


Waking Up (From A Bad Dream)

by Azulet



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Developing Friendships, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Heist, Human Experimentation, Platonic Relationships, Team as Family, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azulet/pseuds/Azulet
Summary: "I was told to steal this weapon, but it's a person."So here we have Napoleon Solo, safe cracker and master thief, and Gaby Teller, expert getaway driver, hired together for this high-paid heist of a secret underground facility. It goes pretty smooth until the container opens and there is no weapon but a 6 foot 5 tall, blonde man, or as they soon find out, a highly trained killer. For some reason he doesn't attack them, but seems kind of determined to stay with them, which doesn't really solve any of their problems. Who is he? How did he get in the container? And what do they do now?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InNovaFertAnimus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNovaFertAnimus/gifts).



> If you don't like the title, just let me know and I can change it!

“This isn’t going to work.”

Solo glanced over at the woman who’d introduced herself Gaby. She didn’t look at him, eyes remaining fixed on the road as she talked.

“We know next to nothing about this job; we don’t even know what we’re stealing. We’ll quote-unquote ‘know it when we see it’. It could be a razor blade, or it would be a tank. What if it doesn’t fit in the car?”

“Well aren’t you Little Miss Sunshine,” Solo replied, then added, “If you didn’t think it was going to work, why did you accept the job?”

Gaby’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and she shrugged with forced casualness. “I don’t have the money to turn down a job, and this one will pay really well.”

Ah. That was a feeling Napoleon Solo was quite familiar with.

Although she seemed capable, she was also young, so perhaps this was just a case of nerves on an intimidating job.

“Well, then, no reason to worry about it,” he pointed out, “We can’t do anything about it until we get there.”

She huffed, apparently not reassured.

The rest of the car ride was tense but, luckily, not very long. The person who had hired them – completely anonymously – had given them a meeting place, and told them a car would be waiting with a map inside. Napoleon didn’t like having an anonymous client, or any client at all, but there was, as Gaby had said, a great payout. And besides, if things went south, he could bail and be in a different country before the client realized they had been cheated. Solo wasn’t sure what Gaby would do, but it wasn’t his job to worry about her.

The location of the weapon turned out to be an empty, abandoned lot. The only things there were some small, pathetic-looking shrubs and a lot of dead, withered grass.

“Great,” Gaby grumbled, parking the car and stepping out onto the cracked pavement of the street, “Just lovely.”

Napoleon couldn’t help put silently agree. What sort of weapon were they supposed to find here? A really scary pebble?

“We’ll give it a once-over, and if we don’t find anything, well, that’s not our fault, is it?” Solo asked, and Gaby agreed grudgingly.

They fanned out, hoping to find something of interest. Solo had picked up a stick and was using it to poke at the ground, and Gaby kept aggressively kicking rocks. When he was almost ready to give up, Solo heard a metallic bang from Gaby’s direction. She was standing on an unremarkable-looking patch of ground, but as he watched, she kicked the dirt, making a hollow, tinny sound.

Solo hurried over, and crouched down, wiping away the dirt and gravel. Underneath was patch of metal, spots of rust interrupting the dull grey color.

He stood back up, and, using his stick, found one of the edges.

“Here, help me lift this,” he said to Gaby, but she just turned away and hurried back to the car. For a moment, Napoleon was confused, but then she reached into the trunk of the car and pulled out a long crowbar.

In spite of himself, Napoleon was impressed. Gaby was proving to be quite resourceful. Noticing him observing her, Gaby smirked and held up the crowbar.

“Comes in handy all the time,” she said, “I never travel without it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not doing me much good over there,” Napoleon retorted, and was rewarded when Gaby stuck her tongue out at him and walked back to the sheet of metal.

 _Careful,_ he chided himself silently, _It doesn’t pay to get attached to a temporary associate._

“Try this corner,” Solo said, gesturing to section he had uncovered. Gaby nodded once, and carefully worked the end of her crowbar under the sheet of metal, tapping it along with her foot. Satisfied, she stepped back, pulling on the top of the crowbar to pry open the covering. It took a moment, but suddenly there was a popping sound and the corner burst upward.

Gaby smiled at him smugly, and Solo nodded, saying “Nice work.”

Three more corners, and it was open. Pushing away the cover, Napoleon stared down into a dark, concrete shaft.

Gabby stepped up next to, clutching her crowbar tightly. “I don’t like this,” she whispered, and Napoleon wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or to him.

“We should get our gear,” he said, and lead the way to the car. Gaby grabbed her jacket, a flashlight with extra batteries, and a small toolkit, not relinquishing her grip on the crowbar. Napoleon gathered his lock-picking kit, two bottles of water, and a flashlight for himself.

Returning to the shaft in the ground, Napoleon flicked on his flashlight and glanced at Gaby.

“Ready?” he asked.

She shrugged, and replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”


	2. Chapter 2

Luckily, they can see the concrete bottom of the shaft by aiming the beam of the flashlight downwards.

“It’s about ten feet to the bottom,” Napoleon said, “I’ll go down first.”

Gaby nodded, and turned her own flashlight on. Napoleon switched his off, jamming it into his coat pocket not occupied with the lock-picking kit, and handed Gaby the water bottles before crouching down at the edge of the hole.

“Here we go,” he muttered, and jumped downwards. Gaby released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding when he landed safely.

“I’m going to throw the water down to you,” she said, tossing them down when he nodded in agreement.

“Pass down the toolkit and crowbar too,” he told her, “I don’t want you to brain me with them on the way down.”

Gaby dropped the items down and, after only a moment’s hesitation, followed suit. She stumbled a bit on landing, and Solo caught her shoulder, allowing her to recover her balance.

“Thanks,” Gaby said, voice hushed in the tunnel. Solo just nodded, giving her a slightly strained smile.

Behind them was a short tunnel ending in a concrete wall, but in front of them the tunnel stretched out with no visible end.

Gaby and Solo walked down the tunnel, eventually coming to a turn, and then it opened into a hallway proper, doors lining the walls. Most of the doors were already open, or opened with a light push, and all the rooms were empty, stripped of anything to give them a clue as to what this place was.

After several minutes of searching, they found an anomaly: a new-looking, locked, steel door.

“And that’s my cue,” said Solo quietly, pulling out his lock picking kit and crouching down in front of the door. He whistled as he worked, selecting a lock pick and something else Gaby wasn’t familiar with, and putting the rest of his tools on the ground.

It only took him a minute or so to open the door, which Gaby found both very impressive and very scary, and when it let out a conclusive click, he smirked up at her. Gaby found herself smiling back at him.

The door swung open with barely a whisper – unusual for a door that size. Trying to quash her hesitation, Gaby slowly peered around the doorframe. The room was as barren as the others, with the exception of a large wooden crate sitting in the center. The opposite wall had several holes in it, as though someone had ripped cables out of it.

There was scuffling from Solo, and a moment later, he appeared at Gaby’s shoulder.

“This looks promising,” he breathed, as though speaking too loud might trigger some sort of trap.

They entered the room cautiously, and examined the box.

“There’s no way we’re going to be able to get that out of here,” Gaby pointed out. Solo nodded his agreement, moving to inspect the walls. Gaby set down her toolkit and flashlight, calling Solo over. In the light of his flashlight, she used her crowbar to pry off the top of the crate; one corner, then the next, then the next, then the next, in rapid succession.

Together, Gaby and Napoleon lifted the top off the crate and set it to the side, leaned against a wall. Inside the box, surrounded by padding, was an oblong metal tube, about the size of a coffin.

 _That’s not a particularly comforting thought,_ Gaby mused, studying the object. Napoleon was standing at one end, hands on hips, frowning down at it.

“I’m assuming this is our we’ll-know-it-when-we-see-it weapon?” He asked, glancing at Gaby for conformation. She shrugged, and bent over the side of the box to get a closer look at the tube.

Gaby grabbed a screwdriver from her toolkit, opened a panel on the side, and began poking at the insides of the tube.

“I _could_ take this apart,” she said, words oddly disjointed because of her focus on the tube, “but _should_ I?”

Solo moved to stand behind Gaby, watching as she did god-knows-what. She was crouched down next to the box now, arms hooked over the side so she could get to the open panel. If he was anyone else, Napoleon would have found her concentration endearing; hair pulled back into a messy bun, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, eyes narrowed.

“Do you have any idea what it is?” he asked. The last thing they needed was to open it up and find out it was a deadly pathogen.

“I think it’s some sort of containment unit,” Gaby answered, tilting her head to the side, “It almost reminds me of a green house, or maybe a submarine. I’ve never seen something like this before.”

“What the hell is inside of this?” Napoleon asked, mostly rhetorically.

“There’s something written on the inside of the panel,” Gaby said, gesturing to where it was lying on the ground, “But I have no idea what it says.”

Solo picked it up, reading the words. “It’s Russian,” he explained, “It says, more or less, ‘Access panel C, Unit 8’.”

“There are eight of these?” Gaby asked, somewhere between admiration and frustration. “How are we supposed to get one of them out of here, let alone eight?”


	3. Chapter 3

“The other ones aren’t in here,” Napoleon said, gesturing towards the hallway and the empty rooms, “So let’s just worry about this one, at least for now.”

“Okay,” Gaby muttered, and Napoleon wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself, “I should be able to take this apart, and then we can carry the pieces up easier.”

“Be careful, we don’t know what’s inside of this thing,” Napoleon told her, though he doubted it needed saying. This girl was smart.

Several minutes – and a few German curses – later, there was a hissing noise, and a corner of metal popped up from the top of the container.

“This should be the main access panel,” Gaby explained, “So whatever we’re getting should be inside.”

She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the panel, and with a whoosh of air and creaking of hinges, it opened.

“Oh,” Gaby breathed, taking an instinctive step backwards, and then she said something utterly unrepeatable. Napoleon was impressed with her creativity.

“No, nonono,” she exclaimed, “I’m not doing this! I’m not stealing someone’s corpse!”

“Gaby,” Napoleon whispered, but before he could finish, she interrupted.

“What? You want to steal the dead body? Be my guest! I’m leaving!”

“Gaby,” Solo tried again, “I don’t think he’s dead.”

Gaby froze. Taking advantage of her stillness, Solo grabbed her arm, trying to pull her backwards. Gaby shook him off with a frown, but walked past him nonetheless.

For a moment Napoleon thought she was leaving, but then she reappeared at his shoulder, clutching her trusty crowbar. He was a little concerned with how easily she made the tool look like a weapon.

They watched as the man in the metal tube twitched, blinked, and then sat up with a gasp.

Neither Napoleon nor Gaby moved, waiting to see what the man would do. He didn’t appear to be particularly special, aside from his height - he looked about six and a half feet tall, by Napoleon’s estimation. Blond hair and pale skin, but nothing marking the man as some sort of top secret weapon.

The man grasped at the edges of his container, breathing rapidly, and after several moments, he finally noticed the other people in the room.

“Who –?” he started, speaking in Russian, “Where –? Is this –?”

Gaby shot a questioning look at Solo, but he shook his head at her. The man clambered out of the tube with surprising agility, only to sway unsteadily and lean against it.

He narrowed his eyes at Solo and Gaby, as though he’d recognize them if he looked close enough.

“Who are you?” he asked, still in Russian. Solo translated for Gaby, and, hearing the words spoken in English, the man switched to English.

“Who are you?” he tried again, “I am Illya.”

“I’m Gaby,” Gaby introduced herself, demeanor nervous but voice calm, “Why are you here?”

Illya looked around at the room, frowning.

“Where am I?”

“We’re not actually sure,” Solo said, then gestured to the metal tube that, until recently, had housed Illya, “Do you know what that is?”

“It is – um,” Illya paused, muttering something in incoherent Russian, “It is stasis chamber?”

Solo nodded in understanding, and Illya continued.

“They put me in there. It keeps – kept – me in coma. I do not know this place or how long I have been here…”

Illya trailed off, looking for all the world like a forlorn puppy. Gaby took a step forward, ignoring the warning look Napoleon was giving her, and asked gently “Would you like to come with us, Illya?”

Well, damn.

“Gaby, darling, may I have a word?”

Solo plastered a saccharine smile on his face and motioned for Gaby to follow him into the hallway. She did so, and the minute they were out of Illya’s sight, Solo dropped his smile, hissing “What the hell are you doing?”

"I was told I was going to be the getaway driver for a weapon heist,” Gaby hissed right back, “But it's not a weapon, it’s a _person_. I am not stealing a person."

“Fine,” Napoleon said, because in all honesty, he didn’t want to give this man away like an object either, “but why are you _adopting_ him?”

“You really think it’s a good idea to leave this man, the man who just climbed out of a metal box, by himself? He doesn’t even know where he is.”

Napoleon rubbed at his forehead, where a headache was blooming. Gaby had a point, even if he didn’t want to admit it; they couldn’t just tell the client that they had absconded with the ‘weapon’.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay,” Solo said, trying to ignore Gaby’s smug look, “We’ll help him, but the _minute_ we know he’s not a danger to anyone, we’re going to drop him off somewhere. I’m not going to be responsible for him for the rest of my life.”

They returned to the room to find Illya sitting on the floor, back to the metal tube, long legs sprawled out on the floor.

“Illya,” Gaby said, “Can I look at that – uh – stasis chamber?”

“Is not mine,” Illya said, which Gaby took as an invitation. She began examining the interior of the machine, occasionally disconnecting a wire or opening a panel.

After a few minutes, Gaby stood up, and said “Illya’s right; it looks like they were using some sort of gas to keep him in a coma. I can’t tell who made it or what the coma might have done to Illya.”

Solo nodded, and began gathering their tools.

“Come on, Peril,” he said, and when Illya and Gaby looked at him questioningly, he explained. “Well, we thought he was a weapon, ‘perilous’, and he’s Russian, so Red Peril.”

When the two kept staring at him, he muttered “I thought it was funny.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Gaby said, glancing around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

“I can’t leave.”

Gaby and Napoleon turned to see Illya standing in the middle of the room.

He looked so ordinary, in his nondescript clothing – a black turtleneck and blue pants – that Napoleon couldn’t help wondering, again, what made this man so special.

“What?” Gaby said, at the same time Solo asked “Why not?”

“I have to wait,” Illya said, eyes downcast, “They might need me.”

“Illya,” Gaby said, gently, “Whoever put you here isn’t coming back. You have to come with us.”

Solo, against his better judgment, could feel himself beginning to warm to this confused, lonely man.

“Look, the rest of this place is destroyed,” Solo said, “You were the only thing left. I don’t think staying here will do you any good.”

Illya still looked reluctant, but he nodded and followed them out of the room.

When they reached the shaft out of the underground compound, Gaby snorted.

“We forgot a way back up, didn’t we?”

Napoleon just smirked, kneeling down and lacing his fingers together. Illya mimicked the movement, and Gaby put a foot in each makeshift step. Together, the men hoisted her aloft, lifting her high enough that she could grab the edge of the opening and pull herself out.

Once she was out, and had rolled away from the opening, Napoleon threw their tools up to her. Napoleon gave her a thumbs-up when he had nothing left, and Illya offered his hand-step to him. Solo looked at him, shrugged, and climbed up. Illya boosted him up, and once he had gotten outside, Gaby and Solo offered their arms to haul Illya up.

Illya backed up, took a running leap, and rebounded off the concrete wall, catching onto their hands midair. Napoleon huffed out a breath, partly in surprise at Illya’s agility – he was quite athletic for a person who had just come out of a metal coffin – and partly at the effort of catching the other man.

They hauled him up; the combined effort of Gaby and Napoleon pulling and Illya scrambling. It didn’t take too long for Illya to join them on the edge of the opening, but once he was standing, he swayed unsteadily.

Solo reached out a hand, not touching Illya but hovering just above his shoulder in case he needed help. Illya blinked a few times, and when he noticed their concerned looks, shrugged.

“Is nothing,” he said, but when he moved to walk away from the hole, he seemed shaky.

“He might still be recovering from the coma,” Gaby said under her breath to Solo.

“What can we do?” he asked. Gaby shrugged, and said “I don’t know.”

They went back to the car and packed their tools away. Gaby took her place in the driver’s seat, Solo in the passenger seat, and Illya looking comically oversized in the back seat.

“Where to now?” Gaby asked.

Solo looked at her, hair falling out of its bun and expression determined, and at Illya, shoulders hunched and expression wary.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “We need somewhere safe.”

Gaby chewed her lip for a moment, looking conflicted, and then nodded to herself.

“I have a – I have someone I think can help us,” she said, starting the car, “It’ll be a bit of a ride, but we’ll be safe with him.”

Solo met her eyes, and nodded once, trying to communicate that he was trusting her to handle their safety.

As much as it was against his nature, Napoleon realized he’d have to learn to trust these people if any of them wanted to have a chance at living freely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started out mostly as a filler chapter, but then the characters decided they were going to have some deep introspective thoughts :)

The ride was relatively silent.

Part of Gaby felt anxious, like she should make conversation or do something to interact with her passengers, but she was too busy in her own thoughts to worry much about awkward silences.

A lot has happened. She met Napoleon Solo less than a day ago – which was its own adventure, learning to work with someone, especially someone as unusual as Solo – and then they’d found Illya, when she was expecting a weapon, an object, not a person.

Gaby was nervous, but not in the high, buzzing way of public speaking or a first date; in the low, pit-of-your-stomach way that settles in and waits for the perfect moment to raise its head. She was worried about Solo; the mysterious thief that was helping them – but how long would it last? How long before he realized that this little group was too much trouble and decided to leave?

He seemed harmless enough now, slumped against the side of the car, eyes closed, hair mussed. Gaby had to admit (only to herself, of course) he was kind of cute like this – a world renowned thief, known for his suave style, passed out against the car window. But still, she’d only known him for a day, she had no idea what he was capable of.

Illya – well, Illya was even more unknown, if that was possible. The man from the box. The weapon. Somehow, despite his intimidating stature and mysterious background, he reminded her of a small child; lost and unsure.

Gaby wanted to ask him where he came from, who put him in the stasis chamber, _why_ they’d put him there, and a hundred other questions, but she didn’t want to force him into talking, if he wasn’t ready yet. She knew all too well what it felt like to hide your past, to shy away from human interaction.

The road was quiet, comforting; it was late enough that there were barely any other cars out, and Gaby took special care to take backroads and stay out of sight. Whoever had hired them to steal Illya would not be pleased once they realized that their team had absconded with the weapon. If they had the resources to know about Illya’s secret bunker, to find and hire an expert thief and getaway driver, they certainly had the resources to send someone after their rouge employees.

They could be, _would_ be safe, Gaby hoped. She hoped Solo didn’t abandon them the first chance he got, she hoped Illya was out of the woods, but most of all, she hoped that she wouldn’t let them down. Gaby didn’t know them much – was making a conscious effort not to become too attached – but she didn’t want to think about what would happen if this makeshift alliance fell through.

In the dark, the car’s headlights didn’t provide much visibility, but Gaby didn’t need them to know where she was going. She’d been here a hundred different times, from a hundred different directions.

That was one thing she was confident about: if they got there, they would be safe. Worst case scenario, he only lets them stay the night and kicks them out in the morning, but even that would be a welcome reprieve. And, although she wouldn’t admit it to herself, part of her was looking for someone to tell her what she should do. If someone else made the decisions, she wouldn’t have to worry that she was making the wrong choice, that she was going to spoil this better, different path.

Illya leaned forward, breaking her out of her musings.

“Gaby?” He said quietly, and oh, his voice was so hopeful, as though she could somehow fix everything.

Gaby turned, briefly making eye contact with him, so he’d know she was listening.

“Why did you find me?”

Well, that’s not a question she really wanted to answer. Gaby didn’t respond for several moments, watching the road and trying to think of something to say.

Finally she said “Someone asked us to.”

Simple, and almost true. _Almost true._ Gaby would’ve laughed, if it wasn’t disheartening.

Illya didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he nodded and sat back.

_I’ll tell him,_ Gaby quietly promised herself, _I’ll tell him soon – just not now._

She turned the radio up, humming along with the music, just to give herself something to do. What had earlier felt like peaceful silence now felt uncomfortably close to loneliness.

Gaby glanced at Solo again, just to remind herself that there were other people in the same boat as her – in the same car as her, if you wanted to get literal. He had shifted position somewhat, leaving a streak down the car window. Something else she’d have to take care of when they finally got break.

This waiting feeling was what Gaby hated about being a getaway driver. The driving, that was fine – enjoyable, even. But sitting in place, waiting, waiting for a signal, waiting for something to happen, that was what drove Gaby crazy. Tense, and bored, and _waiting_. But driving – driving made it worth it (well, the driving and the money). She loved the control, the power, of stomping on a gas pedal and feeling to car come alive beneath her. Cars were her hobby and her job. Driving them, fixing them, figuring out what they needed.

Cars were easier than people, Gaby always thought. Cars told you what was wrong, showed you what needed fixing; they were solid, dependable.

People were complicated, like a room made of mirrors. Contradicting themselves, concealing the important bits, pretending like everything is alright right up until it isn’t. People leave, and people break in ways that can’t be seen or fixed. They have secrets, and tell lies, and you can never tell if you’re looking at the real them or just another mirror.

Gaby had a headache, probably from worrying too much. _It doesn’t matter anyway_ , She thought, turning down another side road, _we’re almost there_.


	6. Chapter 6

The house was quiet when they pulled into the drive. Gaby instructed Solo and Illya to stay in the car while she “handled it”.

Slowly, she walked up the gravel pathway towards the front door, paused a moment, and knocked. No response. She knocked again, and after a moment, a light flickered on in the house. Gaby waited, watching as another light turned on.

The door was opened from the inside, and a man appeared, looking – unsurprisingly – like he had just been pulled from a deep sleep.

“Hello Uncle Alex,” Gaby said.

“Gaby,” he said, voice confused and concerned, “What are you doing here?”

Gaby opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly found that she had to sit down, the events of the day overwhelming her.

“I…I,” she started, took a couple quick breathes, and said “Could we stay here, just for the night?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, sitting down next to her and gently rubbing her back, “But who’s ‘we’?”

“We are,” said Solo. The idiot had somehow gotten out of the car and come to stand in the walkway without Gaby noticing. Illya was hovering next to his shoulder, looking uncertain and guarded.

“Uncle Alex,” Gaby said quickly as he got up, “They’re fine.”

But were they? Gaby couldn’t believe she was vouching for these people when she barely knew them.

“Care to introduce us?” Solo asked.

Gaby frowned at him, feeling unsteady and exhausted, but said, “Uncle Alex, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya. Boys, this is Alexander Waverly, my uncle.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Napoleon said, extending a hand, “I’d say I’d heard a lot about you, except that I haven’t.”

Waverly shook his hand, returning a more tired version of the smile Solo was giving him. Illya shifted uncomfortable, but shook Waverly’s hand nonetheless.

“After me, ladies and gentlemen,” Waverly said, leading them into the house.

Gaby felt herself relax the moment they got inside. This was safe. This was home. She could practically feel the memories swirling around her, reminding her of early, easier times.

“Sadly, I only have one guest room,” her uncle explained, gesturing towards the door.

Quick as lightning, Gaby jumped into the old television recliner. It was enormous, made of brown leather, and sitting it made you feel like you were slowly being smothered in softness. Gaby had spent many a night curled up, half asleep, in the old chair.

“I’ll sleep here,” she said, and Waverly smiled fondly at her.

“I can take the couch,” Napoleon volunteered, surprising Gaby. She had expected him to instantly head for the bedroom.

“Why don’t I fix us some tea while you get settled in,” Waverly suggested, disappearing into the kitchen.

“I’m going to grab my stuff from the car,” Gaby told Illya and Solo, stifling a yawn. It had been a long day.

She collected her things and waited until Solo had done the same before locking up the car. Illya hadn’t had anything with him besides the clothes he was wearing, but he still walked with the other two.

Once they were all back in the house, Gaby locked the front door the way she knew her uncle Alex would want her, and dumped all her belongings in a heap next to her chair. Napoleon was a little more organized, putting his stuff under the side table next to the couch. Illya stood awkwardly watching them until Gaby told him to sit down, because “You’re making me tired watching you.”

Waverly returned, carrying four mugs and a steaming teapot. He poured, and handed a cup to each of them. To Gaby’s hands, stiff from so much driving, the warm ceramic felt like bliss. They sat in silence for several moments, sipping at their tea, before Waverly cleared away the dishes and declared it a night.

“And you, young lady,” he said, fixing Gaby with a glare that wasn’t really a glare, “Are going to be doing a lot of explaining tomorrow.”

Gaby nodded meekly. Her uncle hadn’t even questioned his niece showing up with two strange men in tow, asking for a place to stay; the least she could do was explain.

After Waverly had left the room, Illya glanced at Napoleon and Gaby.

“We are safe now?”

“Yes,” Gaby told him, feeling oddly relieved by her own answer, “We’re safe now.”

Illya smiled at them – a soft, broken thing – and went into the guest bedroom.

Napoleon yawned loudly, stretching, and rearranged the pillows on the couch. He slipped out of his suit jacket, and unbuttoned the neck and cuffs on his shirt. Gaby nestled into the recliner, spreading her jacket out on top of her as a blanket. Once they were both situated, Solo switched off the lamp on the side table, filling the room with darkness.

“Goodnight Napoleon,” Gaby whispered, and heard a quiet “Goodnight, Gaby,” in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rioting has been avoided :)


	7. Chapter 7

The morning dawned too bright and too early for Napoleon’s taste.

He grunted, rolling away from the light, hoping to fall back to sleep.

“Solo.”

Someone poked his shoulder. He moaned dramatically, rolling over and allowing his arm to flop over the edge of the couch. He opened his eyes, squinting in the morning light, and saw Gaby leaning over him.

“What?” he groaned, not moving to sit up.

“Get up,” Gaby said, putting her hands on her hips, “We’re having breakfast.”

Still not happy, but somewhat mollified by the idea of breakfast, Napoleon sat up, wincing as his back protested.

In the kitchen, the table was set, plates awaiting food. Waverly stood at the stove, wearing an apron, cooking scrambled eggs in a pan. Illya was already seated at the table, and Gaby joined him as Napoleon entered.

It was all so domestic, Solo nearly laughed out loud. Instead, he sat down between Gaby and Illya, and dug into his scrambled eggs as soon as Waverly dolled them out.

“So,” Waverly said, once they were all seated and had food in front of them, “What exactly is the situation?”

Solo glanced at Gaby; this was her arena. She had set down her knife and fork and looked carefully at Illya and Napoleon before she spoke.

“Solo and I were hired to do a job,” she began.

“What kind of job?” her uncle asked. There was something about the man that told Solo he was not to be underestimated.

“It was a heist,” Gaby said, “Or at least that’s what we were told. According to the client, we were going to be stealing a weapon from a secret underground facility.”

Napoleon was watching Illya closely. They hadn’t disclosed the details of his discovery before, and Napoleon wasn’t sure how he was going to take it. Illya was looking at Gaby, his face purposefully blank, but Solo thought he saw a flicker of something – Anger, maybe? Bitterness? – when Gaby said “stealing a weapon.”

“But instead of that,” Gaby continued, “We found Illya. He was in some sort of stasis chamber.”

“And you decided to bring him with you?” Waverly asked, “What about your client?”

Gaby let out a loud, rather unladylike snort, and Napoleon smirked at her response.

“We both felt that if someone was willing to hire a team to steal another human being, we would rather not be in that person’s employ,” Solo said, and Gaby nodded.

“Understandable,” Waverly said, smiling faintly.

“And then we came here,” Gaby said, “We needed somewhere safe to stay, and I thought of you.”

“And you don’t know who this mysterious client is?” Waverly asked.

Napoleon shrugged, and Gaby said “No idea. They sent letters to my garage to hire me, but never contacted me directly. I was given a location to meet Solo, and a place to drive to.”

Waverly nodded, and said nothing for several moments, clearly thinking.

“You can stay here as long as you want to,” he eventually said, making eye contact with Illya and Solo so they understood the offer was extended to the as well as Gaby.

“You’ll probably want to get some fresh clothes,” Waverly said to the men, and then, to Gaby, “And I’m sure you’ll want to check on your garage sometime soon.”

“We’ll take the car into town today,” Gaby said, “I do want to check on my garage, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

The meal concluded peacefully, and Waverly left the three of them to clean up, at Gaby’s insistence (“We’re staying in your home, the least we can do is wash some dishes!”).

“So, your uncle,” Napoleon said mildly, scrubbing a plate, “He seems to be taking this whole situation surprisingly well.”

Gaby, drying plates next to him, sighed.

“He’s always been good to me,” she said, watching as Illya carefully put away the clean silverware, “And since my dad died, he’s the only family I have left.”

Napoleon wondered if Gaby was going to resent him prompting this painful memory, but if she was upset, she hid it well.

“Is he your father’s brother?” Solo asked. This was new territory for him; caring about someone else’s history. He was great at making people like him, but he normally avoided having any real connections.

“Yes,” Gaby said, handing Illya a stack of plates, “I was eight when I met him.”

Napoleon nodded, he wasn’t sure what else to say. Illya, who had been silent until now, said “It is good to have family.”

“It is,” Gaby agreed, looking at Napoleon and Illya with something like affection in her eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Once they had finished cleaning up from breakfast, Gaby herded Illya and Solo into the car. Illya was hunched over in the back, identical to the night before, and Solo lounged in the passenger’s seat next to Gaby.

The ride into town wasn’t very long, but as they got out of the car, Gaby arched her back in a stretch. She had been spending a lot of time in cars lately, even for a mechanic-slash-getaway driver.

The town was small, just one main road with a handful of mom & pop stores. Gaby led the way to a shop boasting the title of “Sophie’s Clothing Emporium”.  Solo looked rather dubious – Gaby doubted this was his usual fare – and Illya’s shoulders were drawn in, trying (unsuccessfully) to appear less intimidating.

There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the store, besides the bored-looking cashier who was busy reading his magazine. Gaby pointed Illya and Solo towards the small corner of secondhand men’s clothing, while she went in search over some new attire for herself.

The women’s section was considerably larger, and Gaby found one dress, a pair of women’s trousers, a blouse, and two delightfully colorful headscarves. She left them in the care of the cashier, and went in search of the boys.

She found them still in the men’s corner, debating the merits of a sky-blue turtleneck.

“It’ll complement your eyes,” Napoleon argued.

“I do not like color,” Illya countered, “We are not buying it.”

“Gaby!” Napoleon called, spotting her approaching them, “This will look lovely on our Peril, don’t you think?”

“Mmh, I think it would,” She said, and then, pointing to a loud Hawaiian shirt, “And that would be delightful on you, Solo.”

He visibly flinched, and put the turtleneck back on the rack. As he turned to collect the clothes he had tossed over a chair back, a teenager brushed past them.

“Excuse _you_ ,” Gaby grumbled, less annoyed by the invasion of personal space then she was by the lack of apology.

Solo glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he followed the figure’s departure.

“Wait a –” he started to say, and then the person was running, Solo sprinting after them. Illya was instantly following, with Gaby not far behind.

Illya quickly gained on Solo, and just outside the store, he caught the teenager by the arm. They struggled momentarily, but then stopped. The hood of the person’s sweatshirt had fallen down, and Gaby saw that it was a girl, probably no older than sixteen, eyes wide and panicked.

Obviously noticing her distress, Solo gave her one of his charming smiles, and said “We don’t want to get you in trouble; we just want our belongings back.”

Gaby frowned at him, confused for a moment before it clicked. This girl must have stolen something when she bumped into them, and Solo, being a fellow thief (albeit with more experience), had realized what was happening.

Reluctantly, the girl reached into her pockets, withdrawing two wallets and –

“My father’s watch!” Illya snarled.

He spun the thief, her hair a black blur, and pinned her to the wall with his arm pressed against her throat.

“You stole my father’s watch,” he hissed, breathing heavily.

“Illya!” Gaby gasped, startled by the sudden violence.

Napoleon, for once, seemed unsure of what to do. They had known, in theory, that Illya must have some talent or skill that would qualify him as a “weapon”, but this was their first time seeing him truly angry.

“Illya,” Gaby repeated, “Put her down.”

His gazed flicked over to Gaby, but he didn’t put the girl down.

“Illya,” Napoleon said, “Listen to Gaby. This girl made a mistake. She’s just a kid.”

Tentatively, Gaby reached out, placing her hand on Illya’s shoulder. Illya looked at her, then at Napoleon, standing just behind her. Slowly, he stepped away from the girl, still keeping a firm hold on her arm.

Solo took the girl’s other arm, and with a look to Illya, guided her a little ways away. He said something to her, too quiet for Gaby to hear, and she nodded. Napoleon let go of her, and with one more glance at Illya, she took off running down the street.

Returning, Solo scooped up the wallets that the thief had dropped, handing Gaby hers. They both looked at Illya; his head was bowed, hiding his face, and his hands were clenched at his sides. After a moment, he spoke.

“My father gave me this watch. It is the only thing I have left from him.”

Gaby wasn’t sure how to respond to Illya’s admission, so she nodded and awkwardly said “I’ll go pay for our clothes.”

She went back into the store, trying to ignore the way the cashier was now watching her with fascination.

“Come on, boys,” Gaby said, as she joined them outside, “Let’s get back to the house.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale, finally

Illya was silent the whole ride back. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something or wait for someone else to speak.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when they got back to the house, so he mentally prepared himself for the worst. Gaby would be completely justified in throwing him out of the house for his behavior; she and Napoleon had already been unreasonably kind to him.

Illya didn’t have anything to his name besides the clothes on his back and his father’s watch. Considering how Napoleon and Gaby had found him, he doubted that his former employers would take him back. He’d probably have to steal a car, travel until he was a least a few towns away from here, and find someone who would be willing to hire a 6’5” Russian with a shady past.

Glancing at his watch, Illya wondered how much it was worth. It was old but functional; it would probably fetch a decent sum at a pawn shop. Illya would be loath to part with it, but he might have to if things went badly.

The car pulled into the driveway, pulling Illya from his thoughts.

“Grab the bags, would you?” Gaby said to Illya as she got out of the car. Her voice wasn’t notably different than it had been before the incident at the clothing store, but there was something changed about it that Illya couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Illya collected their bags and stepped out of the car, following Gaby to the door of the house.

She pulled a key ring out of her pocket, unlocking the door and entering. After turning on the light switch, she picked something off the coffee table.

“‘Went out to run errands’,” she read, holding a note.

“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Napoleon said, “But I’d like to take a shower and put on some clean clothes.”

Illya held out the bag containing Solo’s clothes, and he took it with a quick smile towards Illya. Napoleon disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Illya standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with Gaby.

Illya set the remaining clothes bags on the coffee table, avoiding making eye contact with her.

“I should – uh…” he gestured vaguely towards his room, and when Gaby didn’t tell him not to, he made his escape.

In the bedroom, Illya made and remade the bed, trying to expend the nervous energy bouncing around in the pit of his stomach. He sat down on the edge of the bed, acutely aware of the wrinkles he was creating.

_It will be fine_ , Illya told himself, _I can survive without them_. His training meant that he excelled at combat and surveillance, but making friends…that was something completely foreign. _Foreign_ , he thought with quiet amusement, _That is exactly what all this is_.

For a couple minutes, Illya actually managed to relax, enjoying the relative safety provided by his room.

A light knock sounded at his door. All Illya’s momentarily forgotten worries flooded back in. He got off the bed and cautiously opened the door. Gaby was waiting on the other side.

“Do you want your clothes?” She asked, holding out a bag, “You left them out here, and I wasn’t sure if…” She trailed off, the silence heavy between them heavy.

“Yes,” Illya said belatedly, taking the proffered bag, “Thank you.”

Gaby nodded, once, and took a step away from the door. Illya closed it behind her.

He changed into the new clothes – which looked basically the same as his old clothes – and went back into the living room, aware that he couldn’t avoid the others forever.

Napoleon was on the couch, looking fresh and tousled. Gaby sat in her chair, restlessly twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.

Once again, Illya felt unsure of what he should do, what he was expected to do. Solo and Gaby were both looking at him, watching to see what would happen.

Intensely aware of his own movements, Illya sat in the only unoccupied chair.

“I hate to be the one to ruin the mood,” Napoleon said, “But I think we have some things to discuss.”

Illya nodded; he had known this was coming.

“I think I speak for both of us here,” Napoleon continued with a glance at Gaby, “When I say we understand your actions.”

This was not what he had been expecting. Illya had prepared himself for anything from forceful dismissal to quiet rebuke, but sympathy had been nowhere on the list of possibilities.

“But,” Solo said, making eye contact with Illya, and _here it comes_ , he thought.

“I’m a selfish person,” he said, and Illya suppressed a laugh, “So I need to know if you’re going to pull something like that again. I’ll help you, but if you but Gaby or I in danger –”

Illya was shaking his head before Napoleon had finished talking.

“No,” he said, looking at the other man, then again, looking at Gaby “No.”

Gaby tilted her head ever so slightly, eyes cautious. That was what he had noticed earlier; she was wary of him. Napoleon was too, but he was better at hiding it, covering his cautiousness with flamboyance.

Illya felt something thick and sickly curl around his lungs, like cold molasses.

They were scared of him. Scared of what he could do.

Carefully, struggling to find the words, Illya spoke.

“I – I am not – I am trying to be…my own person.”

They were watching him now, waiting to see what he had to say.

“I want to stay here,” he said, then rephrased, “I want to stay with you. I do not want – I do not miss my old life. It was not a life, it was a…”

Again, he trailed off, unsure of what exactly he wanted to say.

“I like this,” Illya said finally, meaning everything: Gaby, and Napoleon, and Waverly, and being asked what he wanted instead of being told what to do, and not hurting people, and helping, and being a person instead of a weapon.

“Okay,” Napoleon said, as though it was as simple as that.

Gaby smiled, looking reassured, and said “Well then, us three, I suppose.”

Illya wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but she didn’t seem to know either.

He relaxed, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was safe, and had friends – family, he thought, because even though they had only just met, they felt like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story! Each and every one of your comments and kudos was a delight; it's so lovely to know that other people enjoy this story. Thank you for your patience and kind words!


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